


What you didn't know you wanted all along

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-03
Updated: 2007-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Not yet,” Jon had said after their first stolen kiss in San Diego. “We’re about to go on a break, Spence, I don’t want…wait. Just wait.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What you didn't know you wanted all along

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the super-sweet [](http://belle-bing.livejournal.com/profile)[**belle_bing**](http://belle-bing.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

It takes them almost an hour to unload their suitcase and instruments from the two rented SUVs. Brendon and Jon do most of it, while Spencer sorts things into piles and moves guitar cases out of the entryway. Ryan is on the couch, not helping.

“One minute,” he says when Spencer kicks him, tucking his legs up to safety. “Elucidate.” He scrolls through the electronic dictionary Spencer bought him for Christmas, chewing on his pen and muttering. “Commiserate.”

Jon heaves another suitcase through the door and raises his eyebrows. “This is why all of our songs sound like they were inspired by the Merriam-Webster Word of the Day.”

He bumps Spencer’s shoulder and they both grin, silly secret smiles.

(“Not yet,” Jon had said after their first stolen kiss in San Diego. “We’re about to go on a break, Spence, I don’t want…wait. Just wait.”)

Spencer hasn’t been able to think of anything else for the entire drive up here.

Brendon bangs through the door and they move apart, getting out of the way as Brendon piles another case onto the stack. “Oh my god,” he groans, seeing Ryan frowning over his notebook and now his Sidekick as well. “Up, Ross, up, the words will still be there in fifteen minutes and Spencer has, like, five hundred drum cases, I swear.”

Ryan’s still frowning, but he uncurls himself reluctantly from the couch and follows Brendon out while Spencer stares after them in mute surprise.

Jon grins and wiggles his fingers. “Brendon magic,” he declares, and when Spencer laughs his smile softens around the edges, touching his eyes. Spencer takes a step forward before he thinks about it and Jon’s right there, hand brushing his wrist. Jon lowers his voice conspiratorially and says, “Not yet,” but he’s still smiling.

Outside, Brendon starts singing ‘Cry Me A River’, and Spencer grins.

  


“Half an hour,” Jon murmurs when they all finally decide to turn in, brushing Spencer’s arm as they lean in towards each other, his hand and smile warm and intimate. Spencer nods and flees to his room, unpacking to keep himself busy, stowing clothes in drawers and wiping his damp palms off on the crisp-soft denim of his jeans.

He checks the clock every six minute, listening to the cabin grow quieter around him as everyone else turns in. This first night had stretched into the early hours of the morning, all of them catching up on news from the few short weeks they’d been separated (from Jon, anyway, Ryan, Brendon and Spencer had only been a few miles apart) and exploring the cabin, setting up camp and settling in.

Spencer creeps out just after half an hour passes and holds his breath the whole way to Jon’s bedroom door. They each have their own rooms, which is convenient, but although Spencer is sure he’s gotten the right one, hand raised to softly knock – he’d checked earlier while moving suitcases, made sure he knew – there’s no one inside, the door slightly ajar and moonlight spilling over an undisturbed bed.

There’s a noise from the kitchen, and Spencer follows it, finds Jon by the sink with a glass of water. “Hey,” Spencer says softly, sliding into Jon’s arms, and when they kiss Jon tastes of mint, of freshly brushed teeth.

“Hey yourself,” Jon teases, and then they’re kissing again, hands sneaking around waists and beneath hemlines, up sleeves over the curves of shoulders and into back pockets hardly big enough to fit them. Spencer leans in too far as things heat up, and there’s a muffled clank when Jon’s elbow knocks into the empty glass he’s left on the counter, leaving them both hissing whispers at each other and smothering their laughter.

Jon grabs Spencer’s hand, dragging him into the living room, and they start again, slower this time but just as intense. This time it’s Jon pushing and Spencer giving way, but there’s no counter to catch him and they end up on the floor, on their knees on the rug with their hands all over each other.

“Sorry,” Jon breathes, “Sorry, I got a bit carried away there.”

“ _Jon_ ,” Spencer says meaningfully, and then they don’t say anything else for a while because Jon is pulling off Spencer’s shirt with his _teeth._

Spencer squirms when Jon’s breath fans over his ribs, above the line of his hip, tickling his skin and making him want more, Jon’s hands on his button fly and Spencer’s back already arching to accommodate. “It’s the living room,” he gasps at one point, with his pants already tangled around his knees and Jon half-naked above him, still groping each other too much to actually accomplish more than a lot of feverish making-out.

“It’s four a.m. and Brendon and Ryan sleep like the dead,” Jon returns, words exhaled onto Spencer’s bare skin as his boxers finally go the way of his jeans. “Besides, we’ll hear them if they come out.”

His mouth lowers to Spencer’s cock, hot wet and obliterating rational thought. Spencer stops arguing. His hands are in Jon’s hair, stroking and petting, tugging when it gets to be too much and he feels like he’s going to come out of his skin from the pressure of Jon’s mouth swallowing and sucking. Jon’s head is bobbing, rhythmic enough to drive Spencer insane, and he’s getting close, close, so close.

And that’s when he sees Ryan.

Passed out on the couch only a few feet away, slumped sideways over a forgotten paperback, the lines of his limbs pale and angular in the dim light. “Fuck,” Spencer breathes, but he can’t tell Jon to stop now, not when he’s so close he can already feel it filling up inside him, and it’s too late anyway, because…

Ryan opens his eyes.

“Ryan,” Spencer gasps, shaking because he’s just come in Jon’s mouth, and his best friend’s eyes were locked with his the whole time. He feels Jon stop licking him clean and raise his head, confused, and Spencer suddenly feels like laughing.

“Are you okay?” Jon asks softly, and Spencer can’t speak through the laughter, his whole body is shaking with it even if he doesn’t make a sound.

There’s a rustle from the couch as Ryan sits up, and even with his hand over his eyes Spencer can feel Jon look, and there. Now they all know.

“Spencer,” Ryan says, voice low but the tone so familiar, so neutral. “Pull it together, this is no time to get hysterical.”

There’s a brief silence, and then Spencer starts laughing again, but good laughter, not silent and out of control like his chest is going to crack. He hears Jon join in a second later, and when he wipes his eyes clear even Ryan is grinning, hands folded up between his knees.

Spencer finally pulls his boxers back on, although the damage is done, and Ryan stands up and announces, “I’m going to bed.”

“You could stay, if you want,” Jon says suddenly, and Spencer stares at him while his cheeks go red. “I meant…I just mean, we could watch a movie, or something. If you wanted. I’ll make popcorn.”

Ryan crosses his arms, hands tucked up his sleeves, and Spencer knows he must be cold. “No thanks. I think I’ll just go back to sleep and avoid the awkwardness.”

Spencer gropes for a pillow to throw and Ryan catches it, and just that fast they’re okay again, or at least closer than Spencer had expected. “See you in the morning.”

He disappears down the hall and Spencer counts to ten before he throws his arm over his face and groans. Jon lays a gentle hand on his stomach, rubbing in circles. “He took it well,” Jon says, still sounding slightly shell-shocked.

Spencer drops his arm again and sighs. “He’s Ryan.”

Jon’s voice is apologetic. “I’ll blow you in a bedroom next time.”

Spencer slides his hand over the one Jon has resting on his stomach, up his arm and inside the crook of his elbow. “Isn’t it my turn to do you?” he asks, rubbing his thumb a little against the soft skin.

Jon grins, his hand splaying flat, pinkie curled into Spencer’s navel. “Well, if you insist.” He leans down and Spencer’s hand slides naturally up his arm, curving around the back of Jon’s neck as their lips meet. Jon tastes different this time, sour and tang, and Spencer’s stomach does a slow roll as he realizes why.

Jon bites his lip gently and pulls away. “Come on,” he coaxes, taking Spencer’s hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Enough exhibitionism for one night. With our luck it’ll be Brendon next.”

Spencer groans. “Isn’t it always?” he says, and Jon laughs.

  


“So, um, Ryan,” Jon asks the next morning over a skillet full of pancakes, and Spencer is so surprised he nearly chokes on his orange juice.

He thinks he may have misinterpreted the question, if it was even a question, but he knows Jon pretty well and he’s relatively sure he hasn’t. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“I could take it back if you wanted,” Jon offers easily, and Spencer knows by looking at him that he means it.

“No,” Spencer says, mind spinning, weighing too many factors, too many possible outcomes. “No, I just…fuck.” Ryan. Ryan’s eyes on his when he came last night, Ryan’s lanky arms and pale face, Ryan who knows him better than anyone in the world.

Jon seems to understand, his arm coming around Spencer for a quick, supportive squeeze. “How about we keep it just us for a while,” he suggests.

Spencer nods, but he’s still thinking. And there’s one thing he always does in these situations, when a decision is too big and he can’t make up his mind, so he does it – he goes to talk to Ryan.

  


Breakfast seems to be the best time for these conversations, but Spencer decides that cereal in the kitchen at midnight counts. Ryan is already in his pajamas, a worn t-shirt and bare feet sticking out from beneath the cuffs of his flannel pants. Spencer debates the best way to approach the subject, pouring cereal from the box Ryan passes him into his own bowl, and finally just puts it out there.

“Jon and I were wondering,” Spencer says carefully, “if you wanted to join us.”

Milk splashes over the side of the bowl, a brief slip of control that Spencer hasn’t seen from Ryan in years. “What?”

“You know,” Spencer says evenly. He’s not sure he could spell it out any more clearly. “Join us.”

Brendon’s voice startles them both, cheerful and loud. “Join who?” He’s dressed for bed as well, sweatpants and a white t-shirt, glasses taking the place of contacts when it’s just the four of them and no press.

Ryan doesn’t answer him, busy mulling over Spencer’s question, and Spencer is waiting for Ryan. “I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Brendon echoes patiently, hanging over the back of Ryan’s chair, chin on his shoulder.

Ryan pushes him off, frowning. “Not now.” He doesn’t look at Spencer for a while, but when he does there’s a new expression on his face beneath the emotionally-blank veneer, a combination of things Spencer can’t identify. “Is this coming from you, or…?”

“Both,” Spencer confirms. “Well, him, first, but…yeah, both.”

“Both _what?_ ” Brendon presses, his tolerance for cryptic conversation wearing thin.

“Nothing,” Ryan replies, exasperated. He pushes away his soggy cereal bowl when Brendon starts picking the marshmallows out of it.

To Spencer he says, “Yes.”

  


Jon has gone out with Brendon on a grocery run, and Spencer’s spent the past forty-five minutes pretending to read on one side of the couch while he’s really sneaking glances at Ryan on the other. What’s more, he’s pretty sure Ryan is doing the same thing.

“This is stupid,” Spencer says finally, and Ryan’s gaze jerks up guilty to meet his, confirming his earlier hypothesis. Spencer tosses aside his book and crawls over, pinning Ryan as he slithers down the cushions. “We were going to do this tonight anyway, right?”

Ryan’s eyes are flicking from Spencer to the door to the window to Spencer and once to the hallway leading to the bedrooms, but Spencer pretends not to notice that. “Do you think we should, without…?”

Spencer is privately certain that Jon won’t begrudge them this, but he understands Ryan’s hesitation. “Tell him it was my fault,” he says, and leans down to kiss Ryan on the mouth.

Ryan kisses in waves, ebb and flow, hungrily like he can’t get enough, never enough, and then hesitant and awkward like he’s afraid he’s been greedy and asked for more than he’ll be allowed to have. Spencer rides it out, sliding their tongues together, rubbing against Ryan in spite of chafing denim, until they’re both panting with their hands under each other’s shirts to touch skin.

They’re still making out when the distant crunch of gravel signals the SUV’s return, and there’s a hectic rush to cover up hickeys and straighten clothing before the front door opens and Brendon bursts into the room. “You’ll never believe what Jon and I found,” he calls as he flies past into the kitchen. “I’m going to put it in the microwave, you have to see!”

Ryan’s hair is hopelessly mussed. Spencer is frantically trying to decide whether reaching over to straighten it will make the situation more or less obvious, when Jon comes in and leans against the back of the couch, lips quirked slightly at the corners.

They look up at him, and guilt must be written all over their faces, because Jon finally gives into a wide, amused grin. “It’s not like I can complain.”

“You _could_ ,” Spencer argues reluctantly.

Jon just laughs, checking that the coast is clear before leaning down to give each of them a brief, heated kiss. “I’d rather do this.”

  


Jon touches Ryan like he’s made of porcelain, hands skimming over his sides and cradling his face, while Spencer presses up behind him and leaves a tiny suckling mark on his skin, secret beneath the line of his collar.

“Do you want…?” Jon asks, and Ryan says, “Yeah.”

Spencer and Ryan don’t fuck, because that feels scary and intense, like it could so easily become too much; but Jon gets Ryan on his hands and knees and they kiss, for what feels like hours, with Jon’s rough breathing loud in Spencer’s ears and his thrusts jarring their teeth.

Spencer feels Ryan tense when Jon starts stroking him, a noise escaping that Spencer swallows, eagerly, just like he swallows the hitched gasp when Ryan comes.

Afterwards Jon settles Spencer in his lap and they kiss while their hands work together on his cock, stripping and raw, until Spencer shudders and begs and crushes their mouths together, coming over Jon’s fingers.

Ryan touches them while they kiss, light fingers tracing patterns on their skin until Spencer’s body is humming and he reaches for Jon, wanting more, again, dizzy and stretched tight.

They both reach for Ryan together.

  


“What about Brendon?” Spencer asks one night while they’re setting the table – or setting a stack of plates out on the counter, anyway, that’s about as far as they ever go.

He doesn’t have to say any more than that, Ryan knows what he means. “No.”

Brendon’s in the living room laughing with Jon over something, and from the raised voices it sounds like a tickle war is imminent. Spencer hasn’t asked how Jon feels about possibly bringing Brendon into their arrangement, but he doesn’t think Jon would mind all that much. And he’s seen the way Brendon looks at Ryan.

Spencer sets out cartons of leftover Chinese and keeps his tone deliberately light. “True or false,” he quizzes. “You don’t want Brendon involved because you really _do_ want Brendon involved.”

Ryan frowns and scratches the side of his nose. “That doesn’t even make sense,” he complains. There’s a pause in which Brendon shrieks and Jon laughs and Brendon swears revenge, and then Ryan speaks up again, sudden and guarded. “Why, do you want him in?”

It’s not as if Spencer has never thought about it, especially once they started this thing; about one of them fucking Brendon on his hands and knees while someone else shuts his mouth up with their cock.

“I’m just saying. We could…” Spencer begins slowly, but Ryan doesn’t even let him finish before he says, “No.”

Brendon and Jon barrel into the kitchen, flushed and grinning. “Where’s the food?” Jon asks, pulling Spencer into a half-hug like he doesn’t even think about it anymore. “We’re hungry.”

Brendon has both arms around Ryan’s waist, humming happily and considering their dinner options. “Starving artists,” he confirms, nuzzling into Ryan’s neck, eyes closed and breathing in. Ryan meets Spencer’s eyes with a look that promises if anything is said right now, he will never, ever be forgiven.

Spencer lets it go.

  


They should have had enough time. Brendon had gone for videos and spare guitar strings, it should have taken him longer to get there and back again. Even without that, they’re usually good at respecting closed doors and knocking, but Brendon is always unpredictable, the exception to the rule.

“ _An overcomplicated maelstrom?_ ” he exclaims as he bursts into Ryan’s bedroom, a page of notepaper in his hand. “How am I supposed to…?” He stops mid-sentence, and there’s no doubt in Spencer’s mind that Brendon now knows what those lyrics mean.

Ryan recovers before the rest of them do; Spencer is frozen in shock, and Brendon has stopped completely, mouth open and staring at the three of them in bed together, tangled together with their clothes on the floor. “Brendon, get out,” he snaps, loud and harsh, and Spencer doesn’t know if anyone else can hear the panic beneath it.

Brendon doesn’t move, eyes wide, still stunned. Ryan’s voice cracks like a whip. “Get _out._ ”

He goes then, brilliantly red and stammering, “I…” and then the door closes and it’s silent.

Spencer rolls off of Jon and says, “Fuck.”

  


It’s not like they haven’t seen Brendon upset before, but usually he’s pissed off at only one of them, or at something else entirely, and that leaves the others free to try to bring him around again. It also never lasts long, which Spencer spends the entire day praying will be true this time as well.

Jon makes s’mores that evening as a kind of peace offering, but Brendon doesn’t eat any. He disappears in one of the SUVs without a word of explanation the next morning, before anyone else is even awake, and doesn’t come back in time for their usual afternoon practice. The three of them fuck around with percussion and bass for a while, but call it quits within an hour.

Spencer hears him come in late that night, but by the time he slips out of bed and finds some clothes, leaving Jon and Ryan curled together behind him, Brendon’s bedroom door is firmly and irrevocably shut.

  


There’s a fight brewing. Spencer feels like he’s been counting the days waiting for it, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring when Ryan stops playing in the middle of the chorus during practice and says, “That’s not it, you’re fucking it up.”

Brendon cuts off like he doesn’t care, but Spencer can see the tension in his jaw, the way he’s gripping his guitar too tightly. “Well, do you want to explain it to me? Some kind of vocal…thing?”

“Stop singing like you hate it.” Ryan isn’t rising to the bait yet, either missing the warning signs or deliberately ignoring them. “It needs to be softer, more drawn out.”

“Soft like a _woman,_ right? Like your _girl_ friend.” Brendon’s voice is bitter now, the same way he’s been singing the lyrics, like choking back bile.

“It’s a song about love, okay? You have to sound like you mean it.”

“Oh, because you know all about true-fucking-love now, right? That’s why you’re writing songs about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Brendon, it’s not like anyone’s ever loved _you._ ”

That does it; Brendon rips off his guitar and throws it on the nearest chair, storming out of the room. “I don’t need this shit.”

The front door bangs shut like a thunderclap or a gunshot, and no one else moves.

Spencer calls a break.

  


Wherever Brendon’s been, he’s worked it out and come to terms, because he’s much calmer when he comes back than he has been, even talking to Jon about something involving the next grocery run and asking Spencer to pass the salt. It’s a start, but he’s still not talking to Ryan, and he’s not letting them in.

Brendon shows up the next day when they start practice and sings through all the songs, but it sounds flat, devoid of feeling. Ryan gives him corrections without looking up, and Brendon takes them all without arguing, without asking questions or giving suggestions, without making the songs any better.

It’s fucked. They’re fucked.

Jon sits beside him on the couch and rubs his shoulders while Spencer hides his face in his hands and thinks way too much.

“If this doesn’t get better soon, we’re in trouble.”

“I know.” Jon stops rubbing, but his hands are still there, warm on Spencer’s shoulders. When he asks, his tone is neutral, sincere. “Do you want to stop?”

He doesn’t. He wants Jon, and he wants Ryan, and he doesn’t want to fuck this up. But he also wants this band. He answers as honestly as he can, looking up to meet Jon’s eyes. “If I thought it would help, I would. But…”

He doesn’t need to say any more; Jon’s arm slips around his shoulders and pulls him in for a sideways hug. “Yeah.”

  


Brendon’s thawing. He’s not quite there yet, but he and Ryan are managing stilted conversations, and with Jon he’s almost back to normal.

The three of them try to keep their arrangement out of sight, behind closed doors after Brendon’s gone to sleep, but Jon gets loud when Spencer goes down on him, and even louder when Ryan fucks him, and there’s no way Brendon doesn’t hear.

“ _No,_ ” Ryan says again when Spencer tries, flat and unyielding, so he gives up and doesn’t mention it again.

Ryan’s not there when Spencer brings it up to Jon, the two of them lazing around and touching under a blanket in front of the television, hands under shirts, warm and comfortable.

Jon is still for a moment, and then he says, “I tried to kiss him. He won’t let me.”

Spencer blinks, taken off-guard. “When?”

Jon shrugs, thumb tracing over Spencer’s hipbone. “Yesterday. I thought it might help.”

“Oh.” Spencer doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t believe Brendon said no. He sort of wishes he’d been there, to hold Brendon steady while Jon feathered heavy fingers over his jaw.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon says, mistaking his reaction completely. “It’ll be fine. Give it time.”

Spencer turns his head to kiss, and his hand finds Jon beneath the blanket and squeezes. Jon’s breath catches, and Spencer’s tongue snakes into his mouth, and he stops thinking about Brendon.

  


Spencer has a plan. It’s a little reckless, and could backfire horribly, but their band is falling apart and taking their friendships with it, and he’s already lost Brent.

“Are you sure about this?” Jon asks, and he’s not, not at all.

“Yes.”

Step one involves Brendon. The latest episode of Doctor Who that Spencer downloads for him is exactly fifty-two minutes long, and Spencer knows precisely what time Brendon’s laptop started rolling the opening credits. Brendon is in his bedroom with the door closed and his earbuds in, which means Spencer can take a deep breath and move onto step two.

Step two involves Ryan.

“Where’s Brendon?” Ryan asks when Spencer kisses him, tongue curling slow and sensual into his mouth.

The lie rolls smoothly off of his tongue, almost without a thought. “I think he went out.”

They’re still kissing when Jon comes up behind Ryan, leans in and murmurs in his ear, “Bedroom.”

They don’t make it all the way there. Spencer pins Ryan against the wall and grinds against him, and Ryan tilts his head back, pleading, when Jon slides a hand between them and palms his cock. Spencer kisses him harder and Ryan whimpers, dragging at Spencer’s shirt.

It’s at this precise moment that Brendon opens the door.

Ryan’s eyes have gone glassy, his lips swollen and wet. He looks at Brendon like he has no idea what Brendon is doing there, a little terrified, and Brendon looks back with his heart on his sleeve like a bright red banner.

Ryan says, “Brendon,” and Brendon doesn’t wait for more of an invitation than that.

They kiss like they’re drowning, arms around each other, staggering into the wall, and part of Spencer feels like he should disappear quietly and leave them to it, but most of him isn’t going anywhere.

The sound of a buzzer makes him jump, loud and sudden, echoing down the hallway. Brendon and Ryan break apart reluctantly, both looking debauched and dazed, still holding onto each other.

“Um,” Jon says, looking guilty. “I put cookies in the oven.”

“You _what?_ ” Spencer isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or laugh in relief.

“Well.” Jon ducks his head sheepishly. “I thought it might be good to have a back-up plan. In case this didn’t go well.”

Laughter is winning out. Spencer sneaks a worried look at Ryan, but he has his eyes closed, Brendon’s lips mapping out the lines of his throat and jaw.

Jon clears his throat. “I’ll just go take them out, we can eat them later,” he suggests, starting to back away towards the kitchen.

Brendon raises his head, pulling a noise of complaint from Ryan’s throat. He soothes it with a hand sliding around Ryan’s waist, keeping him close. Spencer has a feeling Brendon’s not going to be letting go for a while.

“Are you kidding me?” Brendon exclaims. “Fresh cookies?”

Ryan opens his eyes and narrows them at Jon. “I hate you,” he says with feeling.

Spencer gives in and laughs.

  


After they demolish the cookies, warm and crumbling from the oven, Brendon licks melted chocolate off of his fingers and then Jon’s lips, climbing into his lap, wriggling and happy.

“Jon. Jon, orgy.” Brendon is already pulling off his shirt, and Jon raises his arms to help him, laughing. They go tumbling onto the couch and then off again, onto the thick rug covering the floor.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, when Ryan hangs back in the doorway.

Ryan shrugs. “This is fucking weird.”

Spencer looks at the two on the floor, where Brendon is dragging the flat of his tongue slowly and repeatedly over Jon’s nipples. From the way he’s squirming, Jon seems to be enjoying it.

“Yeah,” Spencer admits finally. “But it’s not a bad weird, is it?”

Brendon looks up from his ravishing of Jon and sits back on Jon’s hips, mouth obscenely wet and hair in disarray from Jon’s fingers. “Spencer Smith,” he calls. “Time to get naked.”

Spencer walks over to the rug. Jon is looking up at him, hopeful and a bit dazed. “Pushy,” he says, running his fingers through Brendon’s hair and tugging his head back.

Brendon licks his lips, only a few inches away from Spencer’s crotch, and smiles mischievously. “Make me stop.”

Brendon kisses like it’s all or nothing, hands in Spencer’s hair and tongue in his mouth, and before Spencer quite realizes it he’s on the floor pushing Brendon relentlessly back, until Jon catches him and Spencer climbs onto his lap. Brendon bites, enough to sting, and when Spencer yanks his head back again Brendon actually _purrs._

“Ryan,” Spencer says conversationally, licking the taste of Brendon and chocolate off of his lips. “I think I might need some help over here.”

He doesn’t see Ryan move but he feels it, feels Jon shift his weight behind Brendon and his hands skimming up Spencer’s sides, feels Brendon whine high in his throat and shudder when Ryan gets a hand on his cock.

Ryan sucks on his earlobe while Spencer bites Brendon’s neck, hard, and Spencer thinks it’s Jon’s hand on his crotch, rubbing in counterpoint to Ryan’s, but he’s not completely sure.

To be honest, he doesn’t care.


End file.
